Not Long Ago, Actually
by PrincessPeace15
Summary: You would think that something so drastic as such a discovery would take years... even a couple of decades to be a pain. My name is Rachael. I'm just an extraordinary teenager living an average life... but I accidentally learned of Stigma, a disease that only a few knew existed at the time. My best friend contracted it somehow, but if I speak a word...
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: Greetings! Be especially nice, for this is my first Trauma Center fanfic. There is one AU-type thing that I must point out: For the sake of my ability to keep track of dates and ages, the Trauma Center characters featured (who are not in this chapter, incase you wondered) will be the ages that they are in the game, but rather than 2028, the story takes place in 2015. Now… let's begin with our thrilling tale…**

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><p>*Rachael's POV*<p>

A day in the life of smart ol' me. Sitting in a classroom… excuse me, a _studio_. The school I attended was built into another high school, technically. The colorfully painted blues and greens on our walls and the beautifully furnished birch wood and slate tables made the other part of the school… the traditional high school… seem like rooms filled with rotting antiques that could give an impression of a dying school that had started in 1929. In reality, it was built somewhere around the 1960s. My part had its first class in 2011. We got our work done with laptops, raising our productivity greatly. It's even through this that I was encouraged to chase my long-hidden dream of being a writer. The traditional school? Books. Heavy, rotting, absolutely futile pieces of cardboard filled with words duller than a rubber sword.

You, the reader, are looking at the year 2015. The year someone was supposed to return to the future… when in reality, a piece of my rather recent past would save my best friend's life whilst putting my own back up for auction.

When I had to choose between faking oblivion and risking death of my own.

The bell rang for our elective class. I quickly slipped my laptop into its case when I noticed the piece of paper that my fingers had gently stroked. Just another of the papers stuffed neatly within my case… but the graphite scribbles on it could have cost me my life in itself. I just had to make sure that my eyes were all that ever laid on it. That's all!

I sighed shakily as the flashback washed over my conscious mind's eye like a tidal wave.

_("I _will _know if you've spoken a word. If yet another living soul finds out, I will find you, and I will kill you. Your blood will be strewn across the floors."_

"_I-I PROMISE! I won't say a WORD! PLEASE, LET ME GO! SOMEONE HELP MEEE!"_

"_If it weren't for the crowd above us, you'd be one with the sewers by now!")_

It hurt to see that dark corridor again… the one with the clean stone ledge that just happened to be there, jutting out against a river of pure filth. It hurt to feel that blade just longing to cut into my skin, and the tears that seemed to spray from my eyes, and the desire for sunshine that would never have dared to form otherwise.

Indeed… another human being threatened to murder me.

And I knew what for as well. And it was all on that document that my fingers had gently brushed against. Hastily scribbled information that my brain had the power to keep.

But that was 5 months past.

I zipped up my case, and ten minutes later found me in a Physical Education attire, ready to begin a surprisingly non-strenuous class.

An hour or so after that found me back in my casual school attire, eagerly bursting through the gym door and letting my stomach guide me to the cafeteria, the holy center for hungry students everywhere. The fragrance of beautifully cooked meats and pizzas massaged my smell receptors. Everyone complained, but I honestly loved the food here.

Well… actually, I was barely able to turn a corner when the cries and screams of worried students rang throughout the hallways. Like the epicenter of an earthquake, I soon spotted a huge cluster of students, standing like an arc over the cause of everyone's fear.

Of course, my curiosity was sparked. The demeanor of today's society had made me lose interest in the common classmate and his or her woes, but in a time of mass panic or the production of physical tears, things were just… different. I walked quickly toward the crowd.

Not three steps could be taken by my own feet before I heard a worried voice say the name "Emily."

My heart froze. My best friend was an Emily. My best friend since middle school. My earliest _true _friend.

I was tempted to go against rules and dash to the crowd. Nevertheless, I got there.

The rest of me froze.

The body that was sprawled helplessly across the floor wore black jeans and a Batman-stamped shirt with a black hoodie. She had blonde hair that would normally come down to her shoulders, if it weren't sprawled just as helplessly as her body was.

Murder? I wasn't necessarily sure, but not a speck of blood whatsoever made an appearance on the floor. In fact, I could almost be sure that she was breathing. She just laid there… unconscious… pained.

The Emily I knew. My best friend… and her state rang a bell in my mind…

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><p><strong>Author's note: A review would be much appreciated! Thank you for letting my work take up your precious time!<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Responses to reviews (a nifty idea I got from a Sonic fanfic!)**

**StefBP: Dude… thank you very much for your review. For quite a while, I thought this fanfic would go absolutely nowhere. Yeah, New Blood is practically my favorite Trauma Center game at the moment. I'm actually still trying to get through it (I'm at the first surgery with Brachion… the ultimate patience test). Thanks!**

**On with the story!**

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><p>I was caught up in the resulting rush and panic. We were told to return to the cafeteria, so with an obedience that broke my heart, I trudged back into the room.<p>

Even there, I did not budge from a spot right beside the door closest to where paramedics were trying to revive Emily. Putting my ear up to the door, I tried my absolute hardest to pick up every word that they were saying.

"Her heart _rate _is perfectly normal," one reported. "But it's beating irregularly."

Obviously, that twinge of plain fear for my friend surged from my perfectly-working heart.

"The victim was apparently groaning in pain before she collapsed," reported the other paramedic. "I say… maybe a surprise cyst or something?"

("_Victims of most forms of the pathogen will keel over in pain before being knocked out cold by its invisible hand," _that paper on the wall had said. "_A strange, yet powerful little machine, this disease is…_")

Chills raced down my spine, and for a second, I was a frozen, ice-cold girl. The memory made me close my eyes tight, grit my teeth, and cringe within that same second. My life was _threatened _the day that memory was even made.

Could this have been Emily's next hand in life?

It was all my fault if so. Procrastination, or the fear for my own life? I felt as if it was both. My past caught up with another. A phenomenon I had been too in-denial to accept as true…

The guy in the sewer wanted to wipe out the entire world with this… this secret. He had to start with my friend, apparently…

I thought I knew my world entirely too well. I had envisioned doctors across the globe making the discovery before it could get out of hand. For the organism itself to be listed as another of those scientific discoveries that would be featured in programs to wrap up the year.

I could only imagine it. "…Then, there was Stigma, a deadly pathogen that could kill anyone it wants to with its microscopic hands, but was discovered in an earthworm and eradicated from the world in the same day!" An earthworm instead of a human being… Well, life _would _be just as mundane as before…

("_This pathogen,_" said the paper in the sewer. "_is called Stigma._")

Stigma. What a catchy name, actually. Certainly one to remember.

The bell rang for our next class as I had just finished a hastily-put-together lunch. Tossing it in the trash, I made a beeline path to where Emily's stretcher was.

I practically could have broken through the door, and not even an infinity of glass shards could cause me more pain than the imminent result of forging oblivion any longer. Perhaps, I couldn't trust my world to cure any diseases with the pushing of a button, but mayhap the click of a trigger could prevent the consequences that were clearly described to me… on that August afternoon?

It was January now, and if nobody was going to save the world, I would.

"Excuse me… sir?!" I panted as I stopped in front of one of the paramedics. "I believe I know what happened to Emily, here!"

The man was a buff one, with a mustache that spelled anything but the tolerance for bullcrap. The other guy looked exactly the same, but with simple peach-fuzz and eyes that stared daggers.

No duh was this where my second obstacle would form.

They thought I was insane…

"Leave, miss," the mustachioed one growled. "We can't meddle around!"

They lifted the stretcher and prepared to dash into an eagerly waiting ambulance.

"But-" I attempted.

"We'll take care of it," the other one snarled. "Get to class!"

At that, they took off at lightning speed and were in the ambulance within a few seconds. I took a step forward, but then, the doors shut, and the ambulance started.

I… did have to get to class. That vehicle would force other vehicles to pull over to the side. What good would my feet do me?

I sighed shakily, feeling the trauma start to set in. What if I was wrong?

Whatever the answer would be, I had to turn around and walk back toward my schooling area.

Turning my back… That's what I would have done just five months ago. I probably would have been intrigued by my findings down in that sewer and written down what I remembered. But it would soon have been forgotten, like the time I was sitting outside and documented what I thought to be a drive-by gunshot.

I was almost killed for… this _Stigma_. I could almost feel as if a ghost was trying to recreate that same scene here, in the hallway of a high school. Threatening to end not me, but another innocent life. Of course, Stigma would be scarred into my mind along with a sheet of line paper.

I had to shake it off. Surely, my mother would let me visit Emily later, right?

I had to. I'd have walked there, through subzero freezing, if that's what it took.

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><p><strong>Question for the reader: Which strain of Stigma intrigues you the most?<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note: I want to point out that this will definitely turn out to be something similar to an AU fanfic, in the sense that if the events depicted here were actually to happen, some of the plotline of Trauma Center: New Blood would definitely change drastically.**

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><p>As the night closed in around my half of the world, I sat with my mother within a desolately empty waiting room. They had finally figured out that whatever was going on would take surgery, and it was scheduled for 7:00… That was about 10 minutes before now.<p>

The one thing the retards could get right…

The operating room had to be nearby… and I had to see how the poor fools were getting along.

"Mom?" I said calmly. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom, alright?"

"Alright," nodded my mother.

So I got up and walked out of the waiting room, but instead of walking to the east to head to the restrooms… I headed west. West, toward the long hallway that was divided in half by gray doors. From the map that was framed on the wall behind me, that door was the wall between me and discovery.

It was a thought that had bugged me all night.

Emily's situation was _very _similar to that which would come out of whatever this Stigma was… but what if it was just… appendicitis or something? That was possible. I could have been getting myself all worked up, or even killed, over something that wasn't what I thought.

But another flashback whisked my mind…

(_"The infectivity will be huge, despite its one drawback," _that paper in the sewer had read. _"Which is that it feeds only off of a material known as Culurium. Therefore, it will only attack people with artificial mechanisms or fluids within them, such as artificial blood, organs, pacemakers… the whole lot.")_

Emily had been involved in a disgustingly horrible accident about 5 years prior to this, which was around 2 years before we had even met. Just a year before we knew of each other's existence. She was in a carpentry class, when she went to tie her shoe and bumped a running blade saw off of a table and onto her hand, where her right index finger was chopped off. Her passion was art, and she was right-handed, so she was broken-hearted and was determined to do anything possible to either get a fake finger or have a finger transplant done.

Her wish was granted. Therefore, something artificial coincided with her body.

But did it have Culurium?

When I stepped up to one of the gray doors, I readily put my hand on it. Doctors just burst through these doors when an emergency was taking place, right? Was there a chance that a civilian would get caught in the same act?

I decided to try that question by pushing and opening that door.

Nothing. Not a sound but the distant murmurs of calm patients getting themselves through the day with idle chat.

I carefully stepped through the door and held it as it closed.

Here, the were labeled with the patient's name. I tiptoed down the hallway, scanning the whiteboard that hung upon each door.

Ryan Poynter… Caitlyn Yoquelet…

Third door was the charm. This was Emily's room. I carefully stepped over to the door and put my ear up against it. Wow! It was almost like a single headphone. I could hear every futile word… every mundane beep… every bout of chilling silence.

"I reckon it's just a case of appendicitis," said a surgeon. "Which _is _an emergency, though!"

"The patient's out cold," sighed a nurse. "Open her up."

Impatiently, I grimaced, waiting for the next word to be spoken. Every second of the silence jabbed at my stomach. Maybe I really _was _in over my head.

I was about to detach my ear from the door… when panic finally erupted from behind it.

"Woah… hang on… what the hell is this thing?!"

"What the hell are those _things?!_"

"They're like arrowheads of some sort… some with a pinkish core, another with a blue one. I-I don't understand!"

"I-It has to be a worm of some sort! Something synthetic, maybe? It's just swimming around in her liver like… like it's a public pool or something!"

"I can't grab it! Something won't let me!"

"Is it right under the skin of her liver? Maybe you have to cut to it with the scalpel!"

"…It worked for the blue core, but not for the pink one… Agh! The blue one just burrowed back into her liver!"

"What the hell are we dealing with here?!"

(_"There are 6 strains of it," _that paper had stated. _"They are all very mobile in some way. Three of them swim around… One acts like an earthworm, burrowing in and out of the organ… Another has arms that clench down on the organ and withdraw when attacked…"_)

Sounded like the surgeon's struggles. The connection screamed within my mind.

I had to be right, then. What I didn't know is that it'd take me places.

If my calculations were correct… Emily had at least one strain of Stigma.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, the seat beside me was chillingly empty. Despite it being shortly after a hefty lunch, I just sat there. The blankest living soul I knew to be in the building. A film of fatigue was stretched over my face.

Tears. Tears littered the floors. Tissues rested patiently in boxes on every table in the entire building. Not a happy tone was to be acted out that day. But why?

Recurring replays had postponed my flight to Dreamland until two that morning. Only four hours of sleep would be had.

They had called in all of the available doctors that remained in the building last night. Not one of them could figure out just what the heck that thing was, and what business it had floating around in Emily's liver.

My mother had dragged me home shortly after that.

"Stigma…" I stuttered to myself before my eyelids finally remained shut. "…It has to be Stigma…"

At 2:32pm, the final classes of the day ceased to occur, and ignorant student bodies filed out every which way. I was about to join them. Finally… One of those treasured days of the week where there were no extra-curricular obligations… No plans to fret over… Just a date with me and leisure.

Wait, _leisure_? What was I thinking?!

My health teacher… excuse me, _facilitator_… used her words to catch me before I could take one step out into the rippling corridor.

"Ah! Rachael!" she called out, walking up to me. "I… heard about Emily." She almost started to choke up a bit. "Losing a friend has to be one of the most painful experiences ever."

Tears launched themselves out of my eyes.

"_L-Losing_?!" I cried. "I-I literally left the… hospital… when she was still in surgery… Everyone was all sad today! Why didn't I HEAR about this?!"

Oh God, no… Please… Not this… Not _this_…

"You didn't?!" she gawked. "Well… They couldn't do anything about what was within her, so… all they can do is keep her on a life support system… and even that will fail someday. They think it's a synthetic worm of some sort. Cancer, maybe…" She put a hand on my shoulder. "I knew you were her friend. You two worked together so well. I am so, so sorry…"

I somehow managed not to run out in a complete fit of sobs.

I instead took it out on my raggedy old pillows.

"NO!" I screamed. "No, no, NO!" I sunk my fist into my bed one final time, my voice being shot down to a whisper. "This is Stigma… I could have saved her… Only at the cost of my own head! Yeah!"

I'm pretty sure that part of it would have left a bloodier scar if a true love were in Emily's place.

Then, my mind clicked back to the sewer.

(_"Be sure not to reveal anything to…"_)

A doctor's name followed that sentence, but my brain was not willing to try to put a finger on any of the letters of his name.

Nevertheless, it had said it on that paper.

Therefore… The engraved memory still sat, cramped, in my laptop case.

I felt my tears dry like lava against the side of a volcano. Emily… Emily still had a chance! This was my last chance.

"Be sure not to reveal anything to…" What had the rest of that sentence said?!

Recklessly, I reached into my bag, practically grabbed my laptop case by the scruff of its neck, opened it, and grabbed that piece of paper.

6 strains… First wave causes victim to keel over and collapse…

I suddenly felt as if I had set eyes on a golden ore amongst a pile of playground rocks.

"Be absolutely sure not to reveal anything…" my documentation read. "…to Dr. Markus Vaughn. He is currently researching the same disease, but has fallen far behind compared to myself. He has been pinpointed as the most revolutionary doctor ever to be born upon the lands of this Earth. He works for Concordia Medical Institute in LA, California. It's good to know he's far across the country…"


	5. Chapter 5

School, for a day or so, only felt like a restraint. A couple of big hands, just holding me back from the fight. The fight for a life more innocent than any other I knew of anymore.

However, the day I got the audacity to visit… _her _again, I did the research. I found Concordia Medical Institute, and not only did I jot the phone number down on a note within my cell phone. I took a pen and almost stabbed myself to stroke it upon the back of my hand.

I felt a pocket of justice lie behind every digit.

Then, that night, I had my mother drive me to the hospital again. We asked a secretary where Emily would be.

The secretary's rugged, tired face looked like a grave in itself.

"She would be in the Intensive Care Unit, ma'am," she sighed. "That girl with the synthetic worms? Is your daughter a friend of hers?"

STIGMA. Agh, why could nobody get it right?! Because they didn't know such a wretched creature could ever exist.

And… if anyone knew… the ground would be painted with my fervent blood… That wretched man would find a way. He swore upon the words.

"Yeah," my mother sighed solemnly. "They were best friends."

Hearing "synthetic worms" being uttered from that woman's mouth… I looked back and knew that I would definitely be in tears if my sleeve was empty.

However, the mere disregard coming from the populous that I would have trusted with my life and had to with that of the closest thing I had to a companion made me feel as if a scalpel was constantly chopping away at my heart.

The secretary looked to me with utmost sympathy and said, more calmly than healthy "Down the hall behind me. There'll be a door. Everything from there on is the Intensive Care Unit. The doors are labeled there, too."

"I'll be finding a place to get a nice cup of coffee in this place," my mother sighed, with that same unsettling calmness. "You have your phone with you, right? Text me when you're ready to go home."

I raised my phone up to my face. The shiny blackness of the screen… A secret weapon, such an innocent piece of technology would be.

Three steps a second were taken by my sneakered feet. Sympathetic music echoed into my ears from all around me. Ah, I appreciated that. That artistic aspect. It was almost like that kind of music you hear at funeral homes when you're getting only that first look at your dead loved one. Except this music was asking "Is there hope?" Music at funerals said "All hope was gone long ago, and we're simply prepared."

Paige Fortier, the first door read. Jacob Hamm was marked upon the second door's whiteboard.

Emily Lintz, read the door that my shaky right hand pressed open.

I took a deep breath, trying to yell at my brain like some sort of drill sergeant. I couldn't break down now. If Emily was really gone, a heart meter sitting dismally by her bed would be droning, not beeping to a dismal rhythm. The poor thing's skin wouldn't have any color to it.

Already feeling sadness creep upon my lips, I took a few steps up to her bed and put my hands upon the railing. If a true love were in Emily's place, you could definitely bet that a hand would be brutally squeezed by my own.

I only had to look down at her once… to realize that within any soon-to-come moment, I would either be a hero or a self-hating witness.

I… could be a hero…

"E-Emily?" I said.

Not a peep, or movement, would be made from the girl for the time being. The heart meter, however, repeated "She's alive" to a beat in my mind's eye.

My heart was on edge when I realized how quickly that rhythm could just… collapse…

I couldn't let that happen. Hence the two secret weapons I had brought with me: the ink reading a crucial phone number, and the phone I'd use to reach out to my only hope.

"Emily…" I sighed. "…I promise, you're not done yet! You have a chance… and it lies in my hands. Very, _very _few people know about this wretched pathogen… known as _Stigma_. I have a way to contact someone who can help you, Emily. Someone is after my head because I know what's assaulting you, but… to me, it is most definitely worth the chance. Please… hang in there, despite the fact that I may not even be in existence when you open your eyes again. Your near-dead soul could detect when all hope has crashed… and that's when you can leave us."

At that, I found myself at a loss for words and knew that time was being wasted. That I had said enough. I went to walk out… when my foot got caught on something.

I looked down. A clipboard, holding a crucial-looking report in place. I picked it up and read it over.

"Synthetic worm of some sort. Three arrow-headed organisms, two which make lacerations, the other which burrows into the organ, then proceeds to make 6 or 7 lacerations at once… in an asterisk-like shape."

The room was empty. The walls were dark, and the spaciousness was uncannily plentiful. Not even the birch-wooded door provided a window.

Nobody could hear me in here!

I could feel myself grow clammy as I dialed the phone number on my hand. Then, I shakily raised the phone to my ear, whispering the plan to myself.

Dr. Vaughn… Dr. Markus Vaughn was the man I had to talk to…

After a few rings, a woman's voice spoke to me. All the way from California. This is how I'd ever make a phone call to California…

"Hello," she said. "You have reached Concordia Medical Institute. This is the secretary speaking."

"Eh…" I said. "…H-Hello there."

I looked back at Emily, and the detailed specimen report that I held in my other hand. I felt my heart solidify with a shield. I was ready to be as calm and professional about this as possible. It was the best way to get the most bizarre explanations through.

"Yes," I said, quietly clearing my throat. "…Would your institute happen to have a doctor by the name of… Markus Vaughn?"

The most stomach-churning 5-second pause ever.

"…Yes, ma'am," said the secretary. "Would you like me to put you through to him?"

"Y-Yes, please," I said.

"Alright."

At that, I took a couple of deep breaths. One slip-up, and such a revolutionary man would know me as some insanity-driven woman. He'd be out of reach. My one drop of hope would be tainted.

What if the truth were to give him the same impression?! I-I… had to try. What was going on was true. I hoped he could comprehend that…

At that, a male voice spoke to me. This had to be Vaughn. Here we go…

"Dr. Vaughn speaking," he said.

"Hello, doctor," I said, fighting discomposure. "…This is hard to explain… I-I don't know some things myself, but… I have a friend who… I believe has been infected with Stigma."

Instead of the chilling silence I was bracing for, Dr. Vaughn responded with "WHAT?! M-Miss… Uh… What has led you to believe this?!"

"In school, just a few days ago," I explained, feeling my composure trickle back to me. "I was heading to lunch to find that she had lost consciousness in the middle of the hallway. I later learn that she had cried out in pain before doing so. They turned to surgery to try to fix this, thinking it was appendicitis, or something… but they go to her liver to find that they had no idea what the stuff inside her was…"

"And you're… just a friend of the victim?" Vaughn asked. "You're not a nurse, or anyone that works in the hospital?"

"No," I sighed, part in sadness, part in relief that I had gotten it through to the one person who could save Emily that this was true. "But I'm visiting her in the Intensive Care Unit. T-They couldn't do anything for her…"

"Do you happen to know her condition?"

"It's… probably critical. She's on life support."

"Oh, no…"

"BUT! A doctor left this report behind. It talks about the specimens!"

"Well?! What does it say?!"

"Three arrowhead-like creatures. Two with a pinkish core, one with a blue and black one. The two pink-cored ones just made single lacerations, one about every 30 seconds."

"Cheir. What about the third one?"

That name seemed familiar.

"The third one…" I said, going for that place in the report. "…It constantly burrows into the organ, then suddenly lashes out and makes 6 or 7 lacerations at once in an asterisk shape."

"And Onyx."

That name felt familiar, too…

"Where is your friend?" asked Vaughn. "And what is her name?"

"Her name is Emily," I replied. "We're in a town in Michigan called Niles. It's close to Indiana."

"How old is Emily?"

"15. She'll be 16 in May."

"Alright. My team and I will be out there by tomorrow! And… I want you to meet us there. In Emily's ICU room. What is your name, and how old are you?"

"Rachael," I responded. "16."

"I promise you, we will save your friend," Vaughn reassured me. "Meet me and my colleague in Emily's ICU room at approximately 10am tomorrow. Will that work for you? I just want to… talk with you."

A humble Saturday. That would work, no matter what.

"Yes, that will work for me," I smiled. "…I-ICU room #3, if that helps."

"Thank you. I will see you tomorrow."

At that, he hung up. I went over to the messaging application and texted my mother something along the lines of "I'm finished here, but I'm… getting sleepy. Can I come back tomorrow morning, around… 9:45 or so?"

Around a minute later, my mother replied back with "Come meet me by the secretary's desk. And yes, we can come back then."

Triumph. One of the sweetest events I've ever had to wake up for.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note: I actually completed the main storyline of Trauma Center: New Blood recently. Next up is Under the Knife 2!**

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><p>Oh, if that Saturday morning weren't one to hop into the car and dash to church as fast as your little wheels could carry you… I…<p>

I actually wouldn't have done that, anyway. Just wasn't part of the group who was raised or influenced in such a way. I fully respect those who were, and… I hope they're happy.

For the same hands of fate would turn tables on me that day.

Walking through the doors to the hospital was like a fresh, new experience. Who knew that I'd be here as something other than a tag-along observer… or in a few cases, the aching victim?

I was a hero.

I quickly whipped my phone out, feeling the official lift in my stride. Checking the time to see that just as I was yards away from my destination, I was one minute off from arriving on time. My mother had dropped me off here, for she had to attend to her work, a.k.a. our living.

And you know? My mind had just… put out a declining hand to the thought that being this hero was putting my own life at risk. I didn't remember until it was too… uh…

That fresh hospital smell, huh?! My senses always seemed to come alive whenever I walked in there. The constant hand-sanitizing stations, the sterilization of just about anything you touch... the fact that the place could have been a blister of disease waiting to burst?

My heart began to race as I walked through those same doors. The world came to this finite point as I walked up to Emily's door, realizing that I could potentially not have been as welcome this time around. Therefore, I knocked thrice on the birch-wood door.

"Who would you be?" echoed what I knew to be Dr. Vaughn's voice. What dashing convenience.

"A-Are you Dr. Vaughn?" I asked nervously.

"…Yes, ma'am," he replied, seeming to relax just a tad. "…Would you happen to be Rachael? The girl I discussed Emily's disease with yesterday?"

"That would be me," I smiled. "May I come in?"

"Please do," he said.

Without haste, I practically kicked the door open and set foot on the tiled floor of what felt to be a new ICU room. Same patient…

Different presence. The doctor, who I knew to have been standing over Emily, had now turned around to gather the info on my appearance as well.

Markus, himself… looked like the type of man who deserved to be a doctor. He had hair of an almost spruce-brown, a sliver of facial hair of the same color, a doctor's jacket that almost reached the floor, and… the type of look in his eyes that told me that how he wanted to help Emily (helping me as well, in turn) was something that years of work had led up to.

He simply looked upon me with an alarming, yet totally understandable curiosity.

Then, I caught on to the fact that he had his hands on Emily's bed, which I had just realized was on wheels. I instinctively stepped away from the door's path.

"I'd love to talk further with you," he told me. "But Emily's operation has waited long enough."

"Understandable," I nodded.

He muttered "And TWO Stigmas… H-How did she know?!" to himself.

The latter point seemed to bother him a bit…

"Wait in the nearby waiting room," he ordered, dragging the bed over to the door. "My colleague and I will come get you when the operation is done and over with. Then… we want to have a conversation with you."

I followed him out into the hallway.

"You're not in trouble, Rachael," he sighed, dragging the bed toward the door to the operating room. "In fact… you're a hero."

The latter point was conveyed to me with a warm smile and an appreciative eye.

At that, he kicked this door open, and he and a barely Emily disappeared behind it.

"Good luck," I sighed quietly. The fact was being driven into my heart that now was the time to hope, as hard as physically possible.

No sooner did I turn to walk toward that waiting room…

No sooner than that did stuff hit the fan, and with a crack of a distant pistol, followed by a small whiff of wind that told me that by walking in the trajectory that I was, I had saved my own life.

Then, the shattering of the window at the end of the hallway.

Then, my looking ahead to see the figure that would make fear ball up in my throat.

The figure wore blue jeans and a hoodie that practically enclosed his face. The figure still stared at me, his old hands shaking with a rage as hot as fuel-fueled fire.

He was about the height… about the build… about the _disposition_…

Not long ago had we actually encountered last.

Therefore, the world seized me. Therefore, my life crawled into my own hands.

The man raised his pistol again, and I shrieked. Giving a small shriek with the energy of a hundred voices.

Running away would mean having my back turned, but… wait… I knew a trick!

I quickly turned around and began to dash, shifting my feet with every few steps so that I ran in a zig-zag pattern. The anonymous source that unknowingly taught me this fact of life… Thank you. A few more bullets zoomed through the air, and I managed to dodge every one like a measly dodgeball.

For a little bit.

Getting to the end of the hallway, I almost jumped out of the window by accident. My throat _felt _shot. My lungs were practically tearing apart, my heart beat my chest like a drum… and I turned around only to find that the man had quickly reached me.

He clasped his hand on my left shoulder, using his other hand to jab the pistol against my right temple.

I had envisioned myself being that brave heart who pretended to embrace imminent death… but instead, I was the common human. Tears fell down my face, and all I actually wanted was to be free.

Markus?! Whoever this colleague is? SOMEONE?!

The man then got his face fearfully close to mine, or… just close enough so that I could see his pale eyes wrinkle with the rage that also shook in his voice.

Not long ago… I had only seen these eyes for a split second before they stared daggers from behind… anxious to see me get impaled with a dagger…

"I warned you of this, lady," he growled. "You spoke a word… Your blood would be strewn across the streets. Who knew it'd be a hospital hallway?" He chuckled maniacally.

At that, light shone back onto the situation.

The door from the operating room burst open, and out stepped a desperately worried Markus Vaughn.

"Any final words, you _traitor_?!" my killer whispered.

Markus had looked to his left, and had now set eyes in the proper direction. He appeared to be appalled beyond compare.

"And it only took you five months to croak," my killer growled. "Hmm…"

He moved his finger against the trigger.

In a final, ridiculous last-ditch effort, I cried "H-HELP!"

At that moment, Markus stopped running and shouted "Let her go!"

The man dropped the pistol in utter shock. He then turned around, seeming to show a weakness when he realized the identity of his challenger.

"…Huh?!" said Markus, after trying to get a closer look at my assailant's face.

At that, the same man that was after my head… fled the scene. He just booked it. Ran for what could have been his dear life. Markus actually tried to follow him for a few seconds, but soon became winded and shouted "HEY! Wait!"

My assailant… was gone.

I suddenly wanted so badly to hug the doctor. Not only had he offered to fly here on less than a day's notice from across the country to try to save the life of someone I could care for… but he had just saved my life as well, and not in the way that he was trained. Funny, when I put it that way.

Of course… the men had some sort of wicked connection…

But… I really could have used the hug…

Markus turned around, stepped up to my recovering, scarred self, and put both of his hands on my shoulders, looking me boldly in the eyes.

"Are you alright?!" he asked me.

"I-I… y-yeah, I guess so," I responded.

"I think you need to sit down," he sighed. "Come on."

I followed him, admittedly a bit shaky-legged, to the nearest waiting room. We walked in on an empty one, where not even a secretary was present. The lamp light and the sympathetic drones of music were all there was.

Needless to say, we quickly sat down in two chairs, right next to each other. I was grateful that the thought had even occurred to him to throw away the gloves that were riddled with Emily's blood.

…Wait a second…

"Oh, dear God," I said, sitting up straight. "W-Why aren't you back operating on Emily?!"

This hit Markus with a sense of… fear?

"Well…" he replied. "W-We've gotten to a part of the operation that only my colleague, Valerie, is specialized in."

"Oh," I sighed, sitting back again.

"Now," said Markus, placing a hand upon my left shoulder again. "I realize that you have just almost had your life taken from you. However… There is something that I absolutely must know from you, and now."

"Alright," I nodded, still woozy and shaky from my near goodbye with life.

Solemnly, and somewhat impatiently, Markus said "Stigma is a very isolated disease that only I and another… 'colleague' were supposed to know about. Well, 'isolated' may be an overstatement. Emily is the very first unplanned victim. By calling me, you've given her a chance for life, Rachael. But it begs the question… How did you know what it was? How do you know about Stigma?"

"…I learned about it not long ago, actually," I sighed, the flashback setting into place in my mind's eye. "August, 2014. A summer stroll, toward the store for a birthday present for my aunt that I wanted to keep secret… so that everyone could be surprised. I just crossed the street… when unknowingly, I approached an open manhole and… fell right through to the sewer."

Markus gave a startled reaction.

"Stupidly strange, right?" I continued. "I was about to climb right back out… but then… a piece of paper nailed to the wall caught my eye. Well… that piece of paper turned out to describe Stigma in its entirety. The strains, the symptoms… everything. And not to let you get ahold of any of the information."

He looked bothered. As if… my story had sparked a realization.

"And that was when _that _man approached me and held a knife to my throat, promising to kill me if I told absolutely anyone," I explained. "That was the man who tried to shoot me just now!" I felt chills fuss in my body. "His exact words were 'If yet another living soul finds out, I will find you, and I will kill you.' Well… whoever he is, he's true to his word. Or would have been…" I turned to look directly at Markus. "…if it weren't for you."

I needed an embrace so badly… My heart was practically shivering itself…

"I know who that man is," he told me, almost in a growl. "He will be apprehended."

"Thank you," I said instinctively.

"He… betrayed us," he continued, in the same solemn tone. "But… he shall face fate for it. Harming an innocent young lady over her knowledge… It disgusts me."

"I have that information on a piece of paper at home," I piped up.

"Keep it," Markus… smiled. "…We could need it in the future."

At that moment, a female voice shuddered "M-Markus…" from outside the door.

Markus stood up quickly, meeting a lady as she walked in. Poor lady was in tears...

"Val?" asked Markus.

"I tried, Markus," the lady began to sob. "Her vitals were barely existent when we began… My Healing Touch managed to raise them back up, but only for a few seconds. They plummeted back down, and… a-and…"

My heart skipped a couple of beats. I slowly raised a hand to my mouth, and I gave a gasp filled with dismay. The tears were imminent.

My noise of despair drove both Valerie and Markus to look back at me, their solemn eyes filled with tears of their own. Valerie seemed to be more broken over this than anyone.

"I-I…" she managed to say. "I… we… lost her."


	7. Chapter 7

What was there to utter but illiterate blubbers of distress?

Trying my best to breathe… to convince myself that one accusation wasn't true… I found myself struggling.

Both Markus and Valerie sat down, on either side of me. I soon felt both one feminine hand embracing my right arm and a thicker hand planted, once again, upon my shoulder.

Emily… Why _Emily_?! Why the one person I knew I could trust? Why the one person I shared similar interests with, therefore being able to have compelling conversations and sharing the joy of similar hobbies with?

Why a companion-in-advanced-training?

…Why Emily?

…Why hadn't I given in and called sooner?!

While comforting me, the two doctors conversed. I personally didn't mind, as long as they stayed on their subject. Being in the loop made me feel a bit warmer.

"Did you… get to… incise?" asked Markus. "Before she passed?"

Both of their voices shook rigidly with every word they spoke.

"I got to see the sheer horror, alright," Valerie responded. "Both Cheir and Onyx, just like you said. She had… just… way too many lacerations…"

"Was that how her vitals sunk?" asked Markus.

"I… think so," said Valerie.

My composure somehow floated directly in front of me, ready for me to grasp. Therefore, I did.

After clearing my throat, I shakily asked "Is… Is any of it my fault?"

"What?!" Valerie exclaimed. "What in the _world _is making you think that?! You were the one who gave her a chance-"

"Yes, but she would have had a greater chance if I had called sooner," I pointed out, feeling my throat close again. "I know I didn't know… I'm not the type of person who'd be authorized to look over operations. That page only had words…"

"The point is that you figured it out and called us," Markus tried to reassure me. "You took information that you found and… risked your _life_ to use it for the sake of others. I'm not seeing where you went wrong."

"…What are you saying, Markus?" asked Valerie, as lost as physically possible.

"…See…" Markus sighed. "She found a page of information on Stigma that someone had posted on a wall in the sewer."

"There, of all places?" asked Valerie.

"Yeah," said Markus. "…That must have been his secret hideout…" His voice almost went down to a growl. "Of course! Across the country… in a relatively medium-sized town…"

"…You mean… Kidman?" asked Valerie. "That biologist of a mafia member that drove you to keep Stigma a secret?"

"That's him," Markus continued. "Anyway… He threatened her when he saw that she had discovered his research. He promised she'd die by his hand if she ever said a word to anyone else… When was that, again?"

"A-August," I nodded.

"Emily caught Stigma… less than a week ago, I believe," said Markus, beginning to grow a bit disgruntled. "…I just wouldn't think Kidman would be that stupid… He wouldn't be dumb enough to just… i-infect someone with Stigma and let them go out in public! What kind of stunt is the bastard pulling here?!"

Valerie looked at me and said "Your name is Rachael, right?"

"Y-Yeah," I nodded.

"How did you end up in that sewer, anyway?" she then asked.

"I fell through an open manhole," I answered.

"And not a scratch!" she marveled. "What?"

Those two doctors performed heart surgery without laying hand on a single scalpel. They left with the promise that they were going to make Stigma known and curable now. That every doctor would be able to combat the sickly pathogen to the absolute best of their ability. I absolutely couldn't wait for what healthcare would turn out to be.

Still, though, Markus pulled me aside personally, just as I was about to walk out of the room. Baffled, I turned around to watch Valerie walk out of the hospital, then turned back to Markus.

"Above a lot of things," he told me, looking sincerely into my eyes. "I'll be sure that Kidman is caught. You… probably heard that that's the name of the man who threatened to murder you, right?"

"Yeah," I nodded.

"I'll do everything in my power to make sure he faces the consequences for it," he reassured me. "It may seem ridiculous, but… I'm absolutely sickened at the fact that he could just… threaten to off you like that. I'll see that he's punished, and I won't leave until I see it."

From then on, I… admired the one known as Dr. Vaughn. I still get butterflies whenever I hear the guy's name affiliated with medical journals or medical advice.

From there… the action of my turmoil seemed to fall, no matter how many tears were still left.

That Monday morning, though, came as a shock to me.

I sat, gazing at the news whilst preparing myself to be strong. To avoid giving in to the fresh sobs of despair that would most certainly radiate from the entire school… while fully expecting to shed a few tears at the same time.

Things would never be the same, that's for sure. The one person I felt I could truly connect with… Gone.

By my clumsy hand?

Suddenly "And there has been one criminal arrested over a scary bioterrorism case in Niles," boomed from the TV.

I would have appreciated it if all other noises were to… shush themselves for a moment.

Precious video footage of him being dragged to a courtroom was clipped to.

"Mr. Kidman Deveraux was apprehended after it was reported that he had actively been trying to create a deadly disease known as Stigma, then threatened murder upon a 16-year-old girl."

The station cut back to the studio, where the camera was focused just on the anchorman.

"The source tells the Niles Police Department that he would like to remain anonymous, but that he is a… friend of the threatened victim."

My... soul felt a bit warmer.

Friend? Someone who could actually be deeply appreciated?

Would I dream of seeing the man again?

…If I had called him sooner, could I have saved Emily?

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: No matter how abrupt it sounds… next week is the final chapter.<strong>


	8. Chapter 8 (Final Chapter)

*Narrator's POV*

The perishing of one soul brought a lot of new beginnings to the medical field. A whole lot, especially within the span of around seven cloud-glazed days. The hospital saw a series of conversations in its conference room: rather, lectures led by Doctors Markus Vaughn and Valerie Blaylock. Simulations that seemed to go above and beyond, and while they did succeed in teaching the weaknesses of the pathogen known only as Stigma, they still failed to match the horror that must have stricken poor Valerie's heart when she looked upon the real thing.

Both of these compassionate doctors, however, had to return home after those two days.

And so, we skip to a day, one exact week after Emily's subconscious saw its last glimpse of life.

It was… somewhat of a melancholy drive through snow-glazed roads for Dr. Vaughn. He was on his way to the airport in a neighboring city called South Bend. He had been kept behind by doctors who still had numerous questions about Stigma. He nodded and gave his most honest answers; indeed, even to its father, Stigma was quite the mysterious man-made work of nature.

Therefore, Dr. Blaylock was awaiting him at said airport.

He couldn't help but glance around at all of the pristine snow whenever the car wasn't rolling. It was learned that there were four seasons in California: earthquake, fire, flood, and drought. The concept of this bitter thing called winter felt to almost be the most mysterious thing he knew, now that he actually had to stand in its chill, drive his car over its ice, and feel the crunch of said snow under his feet with each step.

Nevertheless, he envisioned himself stepping on a plane to the same-old within a matter of minutes.

He found a cemetery moving past his right side at one point.

Hmm… interesting… a canopy? A group of people, clad in blackened and browned coats? Aww, that group of people must have lost someone very near and dear to their hearts.

Right as he was about to look away, he thought he could catch a familiar shade of brown.

The brown of a girl's hair, to be exact. Who was that girl, and why did she seem so familiar?!

He came to a momentary stop, right behind a car that was turning into said cemetery. Gratefully, he took the opportunity to quickly turn his head in that direction again, squinting his eyes… trying to get a focus on this vaguely… actually, _strangely _familiar person.

Wait… Black eyeglasses… I-It was really her…

The poor, broken, tear-stained friend of the patient he couldn't save.

He turned away, making himself keep advancing the car forward.

A deep, troubled sigh emerged from his lungs.

The soul had been so brave. Who else did he know that saw Death ahead and decided to try to fight him just to rescue a best friend? It seemed like the dedication that could only come from true love… Oh, what Markus didn't know.

There was something absolutely sweetening in the girl's bravery. Her liveliness, too… She had that rare soul that could fend off thick and thin.

In some sort of strange way… He… innocently admired the girl.

Would her impression on him last for good?

Not even the science he studied could tell that for sure.

In the now, though, he was forced to press on toward the plane… home…

But then, his phone rang.

Turning onto a side street, he picked it up to find that Valerie was the one who needed to contact him. Probably to ask why he wasn't there… Even though he wasn't that terribly close to being late…

He accepted the call and said "Hi!"

"Hi, Markus," Valerie seemed to sigh in vexation from the other side. "Um… There's a huge blizzard just west of us, so… our… flight's been delayed."

"Really?!" Markus replied. "For how long?"

"…Two hours," said Valerie.

Markus sighed again.

"Alright," he then said. "Just… hang tight. I'll try to find us some good food somewhere, and… there's… s-something I need to do."

"…Well… alright," said Valerie. "Try to… be here around 6:30, a.k.a. an hour before our plane leaves."

"I'll see you then," said Markus.

At that, a tap of his finger ended the call.

He turned into the first driveway that he saw.

Rachael…

She… She faced so much, yet only half of it was the justice she had been searching for. That half only existed because of him, too, and he knew that he shared that sense of justice with her. She put so much on the line… Only to lose who she had even been gambling her life for.

And to top it off… She still beat _herself _up over it! Why was that? Yeah, so she couldn't just decipher that Emily had Stigma, and not a heart attack, right off the bat. So she had to work the timing so that she wouldn't have a bullet to her head.

She had the guts to _call _him in the first place!

He had to do something… This type of self-criticism hurt him as well as it probably hurt her.

He pulled out of that random driveway… proceeding to advance back the way he had come.

*My POV*

Even the body heat coming from the bodies around me failed to warm me up. I, and my heart, only grew colder.

I figured I could drown in my own tears.

Just an hour before, I had laid stone-cold eyes on Emily for the final time. Something in her complexion did not spell peace to me.

…Oh, of course not! The girl had died of an insane disease… and… W-Where could she have been if I had simply quit being a little coward, got my crap together, and looked over that paper the instant that I suspected a thing?! Dr. Vaughn's name would have clicked in my head, I would have hid in a corner and called him, he would have rushed up here (exactly like he had in reality), and Emily and I could laugh again! Our handheld consoles could connect in harmony, I could write as she drew… I had trusted her as the artist for the cover of the novel I hoped to publish someday…

But nope… I just HAD to take my own life, along with Dr. Vaughn's potential dismay, into account.

W-What was this life even doing in my hands?

At the burial… Everyone continued to hang silent as the final words to Emily were spoken.

"…May it be known, though, that her death shall bring imminent advances in medical science!" the man in the suit announced. "As fate may have it… as soon as she contracted the disease, her fate was sealed, for it was absolutely inconceivable. Her friend may have ended up giving her a chance… but her resistance was futile. The battle was lost, but thanks to this friend, Rachael, it was fought. God bless you, Emily."

At that, everyone started filing toward their cars.

I? I sat in the snow just a few yards away from Emily, letting the breeze flow gently through my hair… watching for a while as her obsidian-encrusted casket was lowered into the Earth.

"Rachael," my mother whined impatiently. "Let's go. It's cold out here."

"You go," I shook. "I can walk home, you know. I-I've walked to Family Video and back numerous times, haven't I?"

Family Video was the movie and game rental place that was simply a hop, a step, a skip, and a few trees away from the cemetery. We, ourselves, were only a few streets away from home.

"I need time to ponder," I sighed. "I… need to be left be."

"…Alright," my mother sighed. "Don't stay out too long."

At that, she walked away, leaving me alone with "What if?" and "I shouldn't have," and "I should have," and "Why didn't I?" Exactly as I had asked.

Just a few minutes later, I heard grimed snow crunch under the force of some tires. I realized exactly how cold it was, and that I had simply sat there, in a deep space.

I turned around out of curiosity, and-

Wait, WHAT?! I-I thought he'd have left AGES ago! Really, what business did he have here?!

Perhaps I truly didn't understand the medical field. Markus…

He stopped his car, then opened the door and stepped out, slamming it as he quickly paced toward me.

"H-Hi," I managed to greet. Was a smile appropriate right now?

"Hey," he responded, kneeling beside me.

At this point, pound after pound of dirt piled over… Emily.

I looked over at Markus and noticed that he seemed seriously disturbed. Not only the melancholy that the entire day had scheduled for a lot of people, but… a pure disturbance in order. Much like I had been going through, potentially…

"…I…" he spoke. "…I'm really sorry, Rachael. I am… s-so sorry that we couldn't save her…"

…Tears?! Nah, not quite.

"Please, don't w-worry," I managed to respond.

I then sighed, absolutely sadly.

"You guys are doctors," I explained, starting to feel just a bit warmer from within my heart. "I could tell that you were just as worried as I was. First off, you traveled across the _land _just to meet… this. You wanted to save her. I prayed that you could. Don't blame yourself, for… f-for I've… felt as if things could have worked out differently if I had called you sooner."

"How long did she have Stigma?" asked Markus.

"Before that day… at least four days," I winced, feeling myself begin to work up. "I know, that's… a while. I wasn't sure! All I knew w-was that she had cried out in pain before collapsing."

"It could have been a heart attack…" Markus began. "…Appendicitis… Aneurysms…"

"Yeah…" I nodded.

"You're not a doctor," he said. "I-It's like you think you were supposed to know what was going on just by looking at her!"

"Well, maybe not," I countered. "But I knew about Stigma… I realized that it could have been that which plagued Emily."

"It's amazing that you even picked up on it," sighed Markus. "Listen… I think you're being a hypocrite."

"…Because I told you not to blame yourself, right?" I realized aloud, looking straight at him.

"…Yeah," he nodded. "…But with the same rationale, perhaps I'm one, too. I think we need to quit blaming ourselves, Rachael. We're human; humans were bound to make mistakes… even doctors. Besides, I wouldn't even say you and I made any mistakes here. We're… not perfect. Or…"

"I get what you're saying," I said. "Thank you, Dr. Vaughn. You know… I agree. We're not perfect, and… Ah, you know what? This is fate's fault. It's all FATE'S FAULT! We fought for her! And you're right! I could very well have been a hero!"

My throat started to close again.

"But…" I began to sob. "Fate… killed her. And I miss her. S-She was the one friend I could really relate to and… laugh, a-and… be happy with… Why did that Kidman fiend have to choose HER?!"

Grief struck me with an iron fist. Without warning, I found myself bawling. Doing the mourning that I should have taken care of when I was busy questioning my self-worth.

Also, without warning, came the comfort I'd needed since the very beginning.

More than a bullet ever could, losing my best friend struck me.

Therefore, more than a simple pat on the shoulder ever could… an embrace healed me. Soon enough, indeed, I found myself crying very close to Markus's shoulder. He had one arm around me, and his other hand was simply planted atop my shoulder.

Yeah, I thought: Doing this on the job could risk him his career for sure… correct?

He wasn't at work per se, though. He had said it himself: He was my friend.

I could have sat there for hours. I wondered if I could have fallen asleep there…

Uh… Either way, I was simply helped through the pain of crying my tears off. Not an apology for such a demeanor could be made.

He had to leave after a bit… but that bit was about fifteen minutes long.

Friend… I was the man's _friend_?

Markus… Will I ever see you again? Could someone as distant as a patient's friend… really be a friend of yours?

You've brought me more comfort than anyone has ever dared try. You're the commander in the periodic fight against Stigma. If there's ever an outbreak, I know I can trust you.

If _I _were to contract it… I know I could trust you…

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: If you're still with me, thank you. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I'd really love it if you were to kindly leave a review on what you thought of this! And you know what? Do you have an idea that could turn into a compelling sequel for this? My Trauma Center knowledge is only expanding (I only have Trauma Team left to play)! Plot holes? Loose ends?<strong>


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